Surviving Alexa
by Lipush
Summary: She doesn't recall ever feeling so miserable. She's used to the soft scent of dust and the blooming vision of flowers. She's used to a sunny spring and windy winter and the awkwardly season-greetings. But this? This is just beyond her.


**A/N- ****This is just something that came up to me after 4 days of living under the candle-light in the freezing cold. Ziva and Tony 'Surviving Alexa' together.**

**I haven't given up on 'Red', just on hiatus, but I promise I'll update soon enough.**

**'Alexa'- A rare and heavy storm that hit the Middle East last week, and left havoc behind. Known to be the toughest storm that hit Israel in the last 70 years.**

**The experience of going through the storm made me wonder how Ziva would have felt and survived those not-so-simple days, with an outside help from a dear one.**

**Please R&R! **

* * *

**Surviving Alexa**

* * *

A blanket of white envelops her as she shuffles her way back into her small dwelling, and swings the door closed. A sole lightning, accompanied by growling thunder, shakes the small house.

Temperature outside makes it impossible to fix the roof or to attempt bringing back the power, and as she sways back into the living-room in complete darkness, she can do nothing but wait.

A candle-light appears after a long minute, and Ziva shivers.

A hot shower is out of the question. No power. No heating. Food is running out. Body temperature drops in every passing minute.

She can barely feel her legs. Going outside was a foolish thing to do; touching her feet, she almost shudders at the chill of her toes.

The thin walls are not blocking the extreme cold and winds, the snow covers the road, vehicles, streets.

Rising up, she makes her way to windowsill, where she keeps the milk and cheese. Chewing on the cheese cubes when removing the cover, she shudders.

Cold.

She's so cold.

And helplessly starved.

She spent the last 8 hours trying to urge her stove to reactivate, after being shut down this early morning. The stove was the only way of keeping warm. Heat up some soup, that besides an edible option, was one of the only things warm left in this house.

Pulling on her nose, she pulls the blanket tighter around her, her cell-phone back in her hands.

"103 dispatch, how can I help you?" a frustrated feminine voice sigh at her seconds later.

"Hello?" she asks with a hoarse voice, "I called you an hour ago, from Tzfat, I'm without electricity or power," she pulls on her nose again, "When can you fix this?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but all our crews are currently on call in Jerusalem, we have no-one up north, you'll have to wait."

Her eyes close tightly, it doesn't surprise her, "I don't have stove, the roof's leaking, almost no food left, I need someone to get here," she insists.

The dispatcher sounds sympathizing, "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but even if I could send someone over, I don't see many chances of them getting into the city, the roads to Tzfat are all blocked, Ma'am," she apologizes and then says, "Hold on for a minute," and Ziva can hear her calling another dispatcher, "Danny!" her distant voice calls, "I have someone here, asking for a team up in Tzfat, any chance we can get there?"

"_Tzfat_?" Ziva hears a young man's voice, "Tell her to hang on in there, the entrance to the city is closed."

_Thanks for telling me what I already know_.

The dispatcher is back on-line, "You have radio signal on your phone, Ma'am?" she asks.

"I had in the morning, now I can hardly hear anything," Ziva admits.

"I heard the IDF sends up emergency vehicles, but it will take some time. Do you have elders or children with you, Ma'am?"

"No. I'm alone."

"Alright," sighs the lady. No children and old in risk is always good, though it creates other problems as well, "Can you get to your neighbor's house? Anyone who can assist you?" she suggests.

"The neighbor's fields are behind the hills, 2 kilometers from here." Ziva presses a palm to her forehead, paces around nerveriously.

"Oh, that's not good, you can't go outside with that snow," the dispatcher thinks aloud, "Tell you what, you keep calling, I'll try sending someone over, but truthfully, the only way I can see anyone getting in or out of there is with the IDF APCs, and that'll take a while, Ma'am. They work on Route 1 now. We have nearly 40,000 residents without power there."

Releasing a sigh, Ziva realizes it's a lost cause. She thanks the kind, but hardly helpful lady, and hangs up.

* * *

Another thunder can be heard from a distance, the screen of white is cruelly endless through the wide windows.

Her socks are wet, she's cold, food's hardly enough to settle her empty and frustrated insides, and she has nothing to do and no-where to go.

Muddling through the murk, she sits on the couch, fumbling underneath to pull out her laptop. Turning it on, its soft light clears out some of the darkness in the room, as she clicks the keyboard, searching through the messages-software.

After a long minute, a hoarse voice, surprised one, but not at all unpleased, greets her, "Ziva," she can hear him gasp, his voice filled with wonder and joy, almost unbelieving that she called him after such a long time.

"Tony," she says, and suddenly feels suffocated, after gulping loudly, asking "How are you?"

"Alright," he can almost lie to her, but she reads through his voice and he brushes everything off, "How are you?"

She wants to be honest, just say that she's cold and hungry and feeling so helpless. The situation could have been amusing. She survived bombs, and captivity, and gunshots and violent battles, but the cold almost crushes her.

She doesn't recall ever feeling so miserable. She's used to the soft sent of dust and the blooming vision of flowers. She's used to a sunny spring and windy winter and the awkwardly season-greetings. But this? This is just beyond her.

Tony, the ever caring one, the following and not forgetting man-child of hers, knows by now, he always does, "Ziva, how long has it been since you've had a warm meal?"

At the thought, her stomach grumbles, "The _Ichud Hatzala_ men were here yesterday," she stutters, "They brought packed Challahs for Shabbat, but they couldn't stay longer because of the cold, they brought 3 bags to me and one to old Sol on the hill, and I almost finished them all," she admits sheepishly.

That was awfully stupid. Her Mossad youth training taught her to survive through it all. Gunshot wounds and stabbing, close combat and torture, but she doesn't ever recall starvation-teaching.

All that remains in the house is one cut Challah and 7 cubes of cheese. Dairy froze, the milk cannot be warmed, the meat impossible to eat.

She keeps the faucet dripping, knowing that closing it completely will freeze the pipes and so she'll run out of cold water, too.

Hours ago she could hear from afar an infant crying and a woman calling for someone. She cried for no one really, since cars were the far from here, no police, the security patrol long gone, back to Jerusalem, to help others with the cold.

The mayors' cries for help, asking the government to send the army, the home-front, people are starved and cold, where are the rescuers? Those were sometimes heard, sometimes ignored, or overlooked. Hard to decide which city deserved aid, first. Which mouth to feed before others.

They arrive twice a day, only searching for the vest-people.

Streets were empty, houses down the hill dark. Women got out of the house carrying blankets every once in awhile, when the snow stopped dropping and exchanged itself with water.

"I think 5 or 6 days," she says feebly. She stopped counting the days when the people started counting the dead. A toddler, a father of 3, an old man…

She knows there is a solution for this. About 30 hours ago, someone dropped the vest outside her doorstep; they practically mocked and challenged the people to step outside wearing them.

Whoever is seen by the security patrol wearing the vest gets extra food. Another blanket. All while they know that each adult wearing the vest, means one more hot meal possibly taken from a child in distress. When noticing an adult surrounding to hunger and cold stumbles outside with the vest, others will gaze through the window disapprovingly.

She knows Shuli from the second corner, right behind the small store, has 6 children to feed. The father helps the rescuers and the electricity company, he hasn't seen home for days, coming back to chance clothes and grab a piece of remaining cold fish.

She recalls Tehilla from the main Yeshiva street, she has three daughters, one of them was hospitalized due to Carbon dioxide poisoning. Her mother thought it would be best to send her to her aunts in Lod, the toddler was taken 2 days ago with the patrollers, only to be treated in the Ichilov hospital hours later, after going through suffocation syndrome from the heating of the aunt's apartment.

Her mom, fearing for the girl but having to take care of two other daughters, lacks food, as well.

Ziva recalls the 11 children of the Rabbi, remembers seeing him walking through the white streets of Tzfat yesterday, searching for the patrollers, probably to ask for more food. Ask them to pass a message to the electricity company workers.

Last time he was refused. They couldn't stay, they didn't bring enough bread for larger families, his pleas didn't help much then.

She found herself at least 3 times staring at the door, knowing the vest is just outside, covered with snow, challenging her to open the door and walk through the tiny passage leading outside to the freezing cold.

She'll probably get some soup and another Challah. Maybe even more candles? Hopefully. But electricity is a dream, and evacuation is not an option till all roads are re-opened at least partly. Only 3 women were taken from here yesterday, 2 of them to give birth. One in order to die.

She can hear him releases a sigh, his mechanic voice through the screen and webcam fuzzy, she wonders if he can see her in the darkness, "I miss you," he admits finally, his voice a bit awkward.

Her body is cold, but a strange warmth spreads through her heart, suddenly; knowing she can still talk to him without them feeling like strangers. That the time passes doesn't change the fact that they can still tell each-other things…find some solace within one another.

She needs it so badly. And especially now.

"Can you go outside of the house, Ziva?" he asks suddenly.

Blinking, she shakes her head, "I don't think so, the snow is about a meter high, and I can hardly see infront of me when walking."

"Where is your vest?" he asks her.

"On the porch, leaving it on the doorstep where it was originally settled would have made it impossible to find."

A pause, and then, "Ziva, you know that…-"

"No," she cuts him off, knowing what he's about to say, knowing that he himself doesn't really believe she should do that, "There are people over here needing it more than me."

Another pause.

She becomes talkative, "How are you all?" she feels safe to ask, "How is the team, how have you been, Tony?"

Considering, he decides to leave out his rocky-road and mental-discomfort of the past weeks, simply saying "We're all fine," deciding that whatever it is, it can wait, "We all miss you," even though I'm the only one to bring out your name loudly, he adds innerly.

She smiles softly, touched by his caring tone.

"Are you ok, Ziva?" Tony dares question, "Are you better? Are you…happy?" he's almost afraid to ask. To know the answer. He doesn't know which will be worse. Knowing she's happy where she truly belongs without him, or that she's still incomplete and all the headache and separation they've been through was for naught.

"I'm…trying to be," she offers a response to both question. Happy? She doesn't know if she was born to ever be happy. He's so far away and she's somewhat alone…Better? She has improved. Not enough, baby steps… but she knows she chose the right path…to start from scratch. To be able to one day close the holes in hear heart and apirit. To become…a person again.

That'd be nice.

Something drips. The roof? The freezing water hitting the sink?

Drip.

Drip drip.

She ignores.

"I'm sorry I can't be there with you, Ziva," he apologizes softly, tenderly. He so wishes he could holder, protect her, be there and feel her fingers entwined with his. Just…feel her presence.

But he isn't. He isn't close enough, though his words are a comfort. "You're always with me, Tony," she whispers, the computer screen losing its light, suddenly. She knows the remaining battery is about to run out, as well. That'll leave he with no internet connection and not a single idea of what happens outside of the city limits, as WiFi shut out hours ago.

He notices her eyes darken, melting with the room's black color perfectly, he guesses she has only minutes with him before the conversation ends.

Leaning back on the couch, she let her head fall on the head-supporter, embracing herself in the blanket that can do no good. "Stay with me, Tony," she whispers sadly, "It's cold in here, stay with me".

And so he does.

* * *

Minutes, or maybe hours later, she becomes thirsty. She recalls those minutes of the chat with Tony. At some point, she remembers a rediculous request, as she asked him to sing for her. Something quiet, probably something stupid. And at one point he stopped the singing, as she started to hum quietly, falling into a restless sleep. Hungry, cold, fatigue taking over.

When she wakes up, she can notice an endles fog covering the horizon, even though it's morning. Opening the southern window slightly, a sigh of desperation leaves her when she notices it'll be impossible to open the front door anymore, as the snow blocks it completely

She shuts the window closed again.

Pacing around the room, making her way back to the table, she pulls out a cube of cheese, cutting out the remaining peace of the Challah, that seemed that eternity ago, was still warm.

Trying the light again, it's no use.

Her legs can hardly move.

When she's about to crawl down back to the couch, as her own room is colder than the livingroom, she hears a sound that is like heaven to her ears.

A scratching tire, and a man weakly calls-

"_Lechem ham! Lechem Ham!_"*

Eyes widening, she swallows on the Challah at once, running to open the window on the other room.

"_Nashim V'yladim! Lechem Ham!_"*

A group of women at the distance downhill opens up a window, people trying to make their way outside with the snow almost swallowing them.

But yes, oh, blissfully indeed, here is the man with the white truck, Kippah on his head and he calls for the civilians who locked their doors hours ago to come and get some warm pastries.

"Kan!" Ziva calls hoarsely in Hebrew, "Kan!"

She is spotted, and through the window, her frozen fingers touch a packed bag, in which there are some baked goods, and warm bread.

She holds down a cry of relief, removing the cover fiercely, and bites into the baked goods like a crazes predator.

Her fingers almost burn when the warmth of the bread comes to such contrast with her frozen fingers, but she cannot care less. She rips at the bread and swallows it down, the tribute of fresh food is a lifeline.

"_Hashmal!_*" she hears a woman calls in the distance "_Hashmal!_", and the baked-goods man brushes her off, "Not my business!" he calls impatiently, "Going back to Tel-Aviv now! None of my business," and when the soft distant voice insists, he calls impatiently, "_Off you go, woman_! IDF on its way!"

Unlike in Jerusalem, the people here are each to his own, and Ziva rolls her eyes as she closes the window again.

She opens the water and take big gulps as the chilled liquid touches her tongue. It's awfully cold, but thirst is winning over.

The warm bread soothes her as she digs into the blanket.

* * *

Hours pass again, until she hears another sound, one that means that the nightmare is finally over.

She recognizes it immediately.

APCs.

Tractors.

She's awake at once, shoots up, running again to the window, the view in front is eye-watering.

20, 30, even more so vehicles making their way into the city.

They're careful through the snow, the horizon of white covers everything.

But here they are. Heroic and beautiful and bringers of good news.

Windows are opened as men, women and children are in a hurry to take a peek at them.

From there, everything happens very fast. Doors are opened, ways are cleared, as families find themselves being passed to the rescuers, on their way out of the city.

In what seems like a blink of an eye, Ziva find herself in a closed vehicle, surrounded by warmth, one of many families rescued, and she can almost feel her toes again.

It will take sometimes before they clear all the snow and roads and overcome the floods. They have injured ones to take care of, dead ones to bury, civilians to shelter.

But she's ok. She's warm, and for now, satiated.

She wishes she can talk with Tony again.

Tell him that for now, she _is_ better.

* * *

**So, uhhm, yeah, tell me what you think, please. Remember, I love reviews as much as the next kid**

**Going through the days of 'Alexa' wasn't easy, but we survived it together.**

**I finally have electricity and water (and after the long days of the storm, took off for some crazy winter shopping, hehehehe) and everything's back to normal.**

**Oh, there was Hebrew in this one-shot! Right (ooops *giggle*)**

**"****Lechem ham****"- warm bread.**

**"****Nashim V'yladim****"- women and children.**

**"Hashmal"- electricity.**

**As said before, I'm not by all means abandoning my other stories, but when something comes up I just have to go with it. You guys understand, right?**


End file.
